White Noise

There’s a western on somewhere
and the work is easy. It makes me

an indoor person. I thin the coffee
with new water and doubt myself.

All at once a business of horses
hold their hooves over my mouth

so the voice in my head barely manages
a sideward glance, a false gossip,

like who’s going to read this
and weep. Out of nowhere

a thousand pages of gunfire–
who do I know that loves

violence in the afternoon?
I hear the credits rolling,

the song that accompanies sun
on it’s way to somewhere better.

Shortly after, the tapes switch
and the sun makes its gallant return.

Elle Heedles